I want to fill you in on the life and times of Lady Cunt Love! Read on to hear about my journey from falling down a well in the woods in Sussex to where I find myself now – pregnant, barefoot and in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains!
Lots of people have been e-mailing and asking where the hell I am since I disappeared from social media in June. I popped my head back up briefly in October to launch The Online Cunt Loving Quest but then rudely jumped the Facebook ship again.
It’s been a year for me to really assess where I am in my life beyond my cunt, beyond the ‘work’ of Lady Cunt Love. I did a vision board workshop this time last year with a group of women in Brighton and ended up the day shouting “I am MORE than just my cunt, I have an arse and boobs and legs and arms and a head and feet and hands too”. (Cue the Nina Simone song which became my 2015 theme tune!).
This revelation led to some big shifts in my life:
- I began to do a lot more of my dear friend, Uma Dinsmore Tuli’s delicious, poetic Yoga Nidras which include body scan visualisations.
- I started to resent being referred to as ‘The Cunt Lady’ by people I had never met before at the local shop/ pub/ club/ on the fucking street in Brighton where everyone knows everyone.
- I stared at my vision board every single day.
- I realised I actually wasn’t very happy!
Around this time, I left Brighton and moved to a little static mobile home on a lake beside a beautiful woods with my husband and dogs. My husband was in Brighton a lot (he was playing guitar with a funk band at the time) and I spent most of the winter with the dogs and a crappy internet connection.
At first my whole being screamed at all this solitude and peace.
I had spent five long, crazy years building up the persona of Lady Cunt Love, writing soul searching poems, facilitating workshops in Ireland, Italy, Portugal and the UK. I had just launched two big projects, The Cunt Loving Emporium and Doodle Your Down There. I missed the ego buzz and seretonin kicks of Facebook ‘likes’ and ‘shares’ and ‘friends’. I missed the any moment connection with people all around the world.
But somewhere deep inside I knew this is what I needed to be doing. The truth was, I was scared of this aloneness. Terrified of all that peace and tranquility. It was like I was backing myself into a corner and there was nowhere to turn but to myself. So with the support of some very patient friends with whom I cried down a crackly, shit reception phone line – you know who you are and I’ll always be thankful! – I had to finally really face myself. No more being the radical one or hiding behind the raw, edgy, seductiveness of the word ‘Cunt’. Around this time I wrote a couple of poems, Expose of Lady Cunt Love part 1 and part 2, which hinted at the freedom that was on the horizon, almost in my grasp.
Never mind Lady Cunt Love, who the fuck was Colette? And sure enough my body was calling me to do just that because then THIS happened…
At the end of January. I was walking in the woods with my husband and dogs. We found an old abandoned well and decided to investigate. The ground was VERY muddy. My husband is a huge 6’4” man and I wandered on ahead. Just as I jokingly, commented on how if one of us got stuck, it would be him because he is heavier, I felt myself sinking into the ground. The earth literally was swallowing me up.
I was wearing my lovely flowery wellies and within seconds they had disappeared into the mud. And I kept sinking till I was above my knees. I tried to move but there was a loud sucking sound. My husband grabbed onto a tree and flung me a dog lead so he could pull me out. Luckily, we didn’t freak out but actually saw the funny side at the time. I hung onto the lead and he pulled me out but I had to really yank my left hip as my wellie had filled with mud. I hobbled away and we went home. It was only the next day when my period was due that I started to feel like shit. My whole body was shivering and my buttocks seized up. I felt my womb spasm and as my blood made it’s journey south, my sacrum yelped with agony. It had slipped out of place.
I wasn’t able to walk for WEEKS! My husband had to carry me to the toilet where I had to use my Shee Wee to piss. I tried to still carry on with my work, even with the shitty internet connection but eventually had to succumb to lying in bed staring out of my window at a patch of sky and one distant tree blowing in the choppy February winds. I had to cancel everything and could no longer walk the five minutes to the spot with vaguely decent phone reception to howl at my poor, enduring friends. I had to finally completely drop my bundle and face myself.
It was then that the beautiful simplicity of life arouse her gentle face. I tasted a kind of inner peace. A feeling that had felt elusive for so long. Something that I had craved for but had always felt just out of my grasp. Native Americans say that your soul resides in your sacrum. And this helped. I felt like I was meeting my soul, maybe properly for the first time. I had to surrender to each moment. Each tiny task. Sit up, drink some water, pee, poo, eat. That was it for days, weeks. Then as time passed, I could hobble to the car and cry in pain on the bed of a local Oesteopathy surgery. These people are ANGELS. They gently massaged my sacrum back into place. It would slip back out soon after and they would patiently do it again and again until finally it settled. Once that had happened, I managed to make it to a beautiful dance class with the gorgeous Sarah Bullock where I just sat on the floor and cried. I couldn’t dance physically but I watched my soul whirl and spin around the room, mingling with everyone else. And slowly, over time, I healed. By the end of March I was gingerly walking my dogs again in the mud. I couldn’t do the long routes deep into the woods alone but I could skirt around the edges.
While I’d been in bed, healing my body, I had also begun to face some shitty feelings that had been lurking for some while. I looked at my life and assessed what it really was that I truly, madly, deeply (love that song!) craved. I listened to old poems about my pregnancy loss in August 2013 on repeat a hundred times a day. I created a cd with a collection of them, Teach me the Beat. These poems were recorded live as I wrote them. Hearing my sad, numb voice reminded me what a huge blow this experience had been.
I realised that the most important thing for me to do right at that moment was to create a home with my husband and dogs. Find a place in the world for us to really BE so that we could birth a baby. My womb cried out for another pregnancy each month and when my blood came, I was filled with an unbearable pain.
A long journey ensued that included the beginning of a life long love affair with plants in a sunny Sussex meadow, a remembering of the sheer simplicity of life, a re-encounter with the elements and long, blissful glimpses into my own soul. I think I’m writing a book about it. I’m not sure but I might be. Maybe. Who knows really but it feels good to have written this much to you today.
So a year since I shouted ‘I’m MORE than just my cunt’ and I’ve discovered that I definitely am. I’ve learned what happens when I give my body space to speak to me. I’ve experienced pain that I never knew existed. I’ve tasted the sweet honey of being reunited with my soul.
And where I find myself now is very different than where I was then.
I’m living in a 7.5 tonne Horsebox where my husband has built us a home with his gorgeous hands. In Southern Spain. In the foothills of the Spanish Sierra Nevada mountains to be precise. On the original site of the famous Dragon hippie festival to be more precise. We equipped our dogs with pet passports and they are snoring peacefully beside me as I type. Tim crosses the river every day to collect fallen eucalyptus trees to chop for firewood. Then he climbs a bit up one of the mountains to a Spring to get us drinking water, collecting wild Rosemary, Thyme and Sage along the way. I collect water from the river to wash our dishes, clothes and bodies in. I light a little fire to heat the water. I sing in a choir by the Spring every Monday and look into the eyes of people who see my soul. They don’t know Lady Cunt Love. They know Colette. And that is enough. I am enough. I finally know this. ENOUGH. Just simply being me.
I am 25 weeks pregnant! There is a little being wriggling in my womb. S/he gives extra excited kicks when I hit the high notes at choir, singing my heart out as the hot Spanish sun warms by sacrum. My midwife, Vanessa Brooks lives a five minutes walk from me. She is setting up a birthing centre. A new birthing paradigm, in fact. Get involved. Support her. Come train to be a midwife with her. Or come have your baby here with me.
Leap in the unknown.
Or just simply lie back in your bed. Put your laptop away. Watch the clouds drift across the sky. Stop the endless struggling and escaping. Surrender to yourself. Cease to seek. Meet your soul. Listen carefully to the silence.
Find yourself at home INSIDE yourself.
I love you.
From my soul to yours, always.